Cry havoc! And let loose the dogs of war! — Julius Caesar, Act III, Scene I
There was shouting everywhere as they wildly charged forward. The three uniformed men who stood in their way stared at me with pained, accusing eyes for their impending fate. I was powerless to stop the carnage. There was nothing else I could do but to surrender to my helplessness and scream, Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!
Earlier on that bright and sunny June morning, I had cheerfully driven to school feeling so good about myself. I was going to accompany my son’s class to a water spa. After more solemn rites at school, my son’s grade 2 teacher had wanted to end their celebration of the feast of Saint John the Baptist in a fun way by bringing her students to a water spa. There was going to be water fountains, car-wash like giant showers, a lazy pool, water massages, hot mineral baths, and other wet attractions. It seemed like a great idea. She asked for parents to help her out and when I found out that all those who enlisted were mothers, I decided to join them as the lone male volunteer.
As proudly Filipino as I am, I think that a bit of German and Japanese blood somehow got into my veins. I like planning things out, making back-up plans, and anticipating contingencies. This is how I work and in many ways, this reflects in the way I father my children as well. I would not be me if I had not already simulated in my mind many of the things they do beforehand. Check. Double-check. Make sure.
While waiting for the children to come out of their classroom, I reviewed the schedule of activities with the mothers. We had a tight timetable and some coordination was required, especially on the transportation. I looked at my watch and fretted as we were already running late. Just as I was about to knock on the classroom door, they started filing out of their room. The mothers understandably bunched together and so I was left alone in my car with about eight of the kids. Even before we arrived at the spa, I already anticipated that there might be no more parking slots in front. True enough, it was full. And so I split the children into two groups as I had pre-planned and waited until the first group reached the spa entrance where the other parents were. I then proceeded to park the car at the back and went down with the rest of the kids assigned to me.
As we were all registering at the counter, the management informed us that none of the boys could use the women’s locker even if they were accompanied by their mothers. That meant that all 11 of them had to go with me. Hmmmm ... unexpected development. I shrugged and told myself to just plan it. Get them organized. Get them changed to their trunks. Bring them to the pool area. No problem.
I asked all the boys to line up in front of the stairs leading up to the locker room. I then proceeded with my checklist. First, make sure they all have their bags. Check. Tell them what will happen next, step-by-step, and what they need to do. Check. I anticipated that maybe one or two of them might misbehave and so my last item was to issue a polite but firm warning coupled with a moderately stern look to show them I meant business. Check. Satisfied that my perfect plan was in place, I finally said, “Okay, boys let’s go.”
All hell broke loose. The children started screaming and bolted up the stairs like unleashed dogs chasing after cats. They barged into the men’s locker room taking the three uniformed attendants by surprise. They invaded the shower area, barging into each and every shower stall in wild abandon. Shakespeare must have gotten his inspiration for that memorable line in Julius Caesar from children gone amok.
Under the attendants’ withering gazes, I managed to settle down the kids a bit and get them to start undressing. I had planned to assign two boys for each locker, but it was impossible to get them to do anything. The adrenalin that was gushing through their veins was just too overpowering. Bags, briefs, and clothes littered the room that by now resembled a battlefield. I decided to just dump everything as best as I could. I had already taken off my shirt and changed into my swimming gear when one of attendants informed me that spa regulations did not allow board shorts-type swimming attire. It had to be the fitting kind. Half of the boys would have to change. He said I could go downstairs and rent trunks. I started to growl back a reply when he offered to get them for me. He looked at my shorts and said that it also didn’t pass so he would have to get me trunks as well. He came back a few minutes later and handed me several trunks. I quickly gave them to the boys, many of whom were prancing and running about naked. I looked at my trunks and immediately called back the attendant. I told him that it was too small. It was boy’s size. He smiled and replied that it was the biggest size they had left. I felt a shiver quickly travel from my nape down to my groin. All of a sudden, the room felt like it was freezing. There was a twinkle in the attendant’s eyes that reminded me of another famous line from Shakespeare: “There’s daggers in men’s smiles.” (Macbeth, Act II, Scene III). Revenge is, indeed, “a dish best served cold.”
With my perfect plan now in tatters, I marched the boys down to the pool area in my scandalous trunks which were perfectly complemented by about eight jingling locker keys that adorned my wrist. I ignored the stares, imagined and not, and jumped quickly into the water. I didn’t know what else could go wrong and resigned myself to my humiliation. Yet things actually turned out to be much better after that. Except for having to stop one of the boys from peeing in the open shower; having to unofficially break the world record in the 100-meter sprint as I made a wild dash out of the pool in my aerodynamic trunks to get a boy’s ear plugs from the locker room; and having to enter — ahem — the “women’s only” sauna, where a missing boy was supposed to be hiding, I only had to perform regular lifeguard duties for the rest of the morning. The children whooped it up in the water and they filled the air with shrieks and laughter.
We parents sometimes want to overly plan our children’s lives — to micro-manage things for them. As my experience above had shown, however, there is no such thing as a perfect plan when it comes to kids. Yet it is perhaps its very imperfection that makes parenting such a fulfilling and fun experience.
As we drove home later, my son and my nephew were all smiles. As far as they were concerned, everything had gone perfectly. Which brings me to my final thoughts on parenting, aided once more by another immortal Shakespearean quote: “Though this be madness, yet there is method in it.” (Hamlet, Act II, Scene II).
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